Month: May 2008

To end ignorance
the chef
a religious fellow,
renounced all desires,
but for the wine of truth
in great writings

A note from heaven
not a feather
he tried to get
on a beach. With a

bottle of Vermouth
he stood in search of truth,
a raw chicken cutlet in hand
looking for a chef’s promised land
that perfect recipe to make ends meet,
to make his cooking nirvana be
the ultimate stew,
but he had only torn pages
missing those spicy truths
just known to a sage,
and only a grappling hook
on a blanket to cook.

When a movie star came by to say
the truth is up there in the sky
he threw the hook up in the air
repeatedly despite the stares. My recipe

must be part of truth he said
the root of flavored
cotton candy skies. Although

before the truth he could hook
a bird of hunger just swooped
down on the cutlet
tearing it loose. Foolish

bird he shouted
how can you really make out
with recipe not in your snout?
————————————————–WOOD WOULD KNOW
She’s commin’
in the rain, ’cause
she remembers,
dares to end
this game; there
can’t be a hangin’
to blow away a soul

Cross to no one,
I’ve been prayin’
a witness
saw me saw wood
way across the hay
by the hardware store

couldn’t be here
stabbing a man like
it’s been said,
even if I would
want that devil dead

Through all my hard knocks
I stayed sane
and could never be mean–
can’t hang me on the hardwood tree
’cause she’s comin’ in the rain

Which droppings from heaven
shall a squirrel prefer —
feather or plastic, if
foulness is elastic
———————————————-PLAINLY I HAVE ARRIVED

I bought you
bottles of perfume
of wine, but
the terrorists made me
lose them at the airport

I flew here by something old — well,
hitched a ride on a pterodactyl —
the Jurassic pilot gave me no peanuts
but I didn’t get eaten

I am so tired of ancient
of modern
pains and planes
creatures

Thus I thrust my arms
an evolved mammal
to bring you me
without Champagne, so
pour me out,
disarm me
to charm me
while I undress my
stress in your arms
flapping
happy
————————————————–FLYING KITES
He heard the word on the news,
but I’m not going to hunt gorillas
I had explained to the little one. This place

is infested with guerillas.
We’d been ordered to be colder,
following the role of soldiers
playing with enemy children
putting hearts on our shoulders,
bringing candy and games
in crosshairs jokenly aimed. I have

hated the bubbly joy memory
with promises unkept. I remember
little memories like foam
of my baby brother at home
laughing to funny skipping heights
taking a kite to fly in song
but with winds catching me wrong,
with wooden frame snapping right away,
I promised to bring it back to life one day. Nevermind

the bubble memories art
seeing war children in the breeze,
those queasy bullets hitting my heart, while
brother’s promise I gave to enemy children,
promising them a kite ill sent,
but with orders in hand, minds well bent,
we were fired on from a village hell lent. The children
we were ordered to kill
and I lent brother’s face

to the kid that I killed.
The kite is broken.
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)

I know you love me mole and mountain bluff
I show my cards, won’t raise to bluff a love.
It’s real this deal of sharing zeal, a bliss
no gamble oneness riding thought enough
to join two souls, a coup by doves
who fly with coos to play the music’s kiss

Mrs. Claus hated his bluff —
rarely did she see
his cherry lips or cheeks

She could play
with farce no more, for
the fantasy wishes
in unlabeled boxes
would not suffice
for Mrs. Claus who
wrote free verse
while Santa was busy

Santa answered
delightful letters
from giddy children, but

she received letters
of rejection from the
poetry editor,
a trochee donkey
iambic like an ass

Mrs. Claus hated when the big one
went away on Christmas,
when the snow looked like
semen dried up and flaky,
his departing stomach
like a pregnant indulgence
she could only wish for

Finally, one Christmas
when no more
could she count the
melting snow flakes on her tongue,
count the elves, the reindeer,
the orphan toys, her emptiness
overtook her sanity, and
she took an empty sleigh
to drive into the city of sin,
her naked body wrapped only
in a fur coat, a pocket
for her Santa cell phone

She left the sleigh,
tied the reindeer to a lamp pole,
strolled the streets showing a leg,
singing “Ho, ha, ha”; Heaven’s
white tears covered her head as
she peered into loneliness
waiting for a finger of love, but
she spied a lost little girl

She hoo, ha, ha’ed the girl
’till the crying subsided,
asked her name
found a Lisa

“Where’s your Daddy?”
She didn’t know,
said he went for a quickie walk

She would look to find him as
the snow thickened, her head covered
with a white crown of sorrow. Lisa skipped
and jumped close behind her like
a newly born calf not
straying too far, waiting for an available tit

Mrs. Claus walked, showing a leg. A man
appeared from nowhere, laid
his hand on her thigh
like a roadway, followed the path

Eventually he noticed
her glistening tears. Looking
in her eyes, saw
he knew her
once before

Just then, the
Santa cell phone rang.
The Elf Secret Service said,
there’s been a sleigh crash, and
Santa is dead.

The world was wrapped in gloom
as Mrs. Claus
brushed snow from her head

Joy fell from artificial boons
and wrappers filled the ocean

With a poof
unreal gifts
vanished in a twinkle,
elves all banished
to a realm of puff

Starlight appeared
on Lisa’s tears,
a word on innocent lips:
“Can we all be married, Daddy?”

With a ho, ho, ha
and a ho, ho, ho
they vowed to
do better with love
to listen to snow
gust up and swirl,
to see a gift like a crystal
had already been born
—- Douglas Gilbert
(Henry Le Châtelier)

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I woke up to my
longing for you; coffee
bit my dream
I stirred your cream

If I dress to seek you
will I know where
passion gallivants

You haunt me with
your many haunts. I
feel a phantom kiss
and miss the bliss from
flesh and ardor, belief bones
troubles massaged in a love whisper,
soothing music
melodic compassion

I am out to find you
driven like the mating birds;
walking, I hear the coos
but let them fly unknowing
for I have a gift for us:
wait ’til you
see me smile
everywhere I know you
———-STILL RAPID
For me I flushed, a
cheeky glow on me, when
I heard her
laughing in my heart
her oxygen in my
hemoglobin sanguine

Tincture of joy upon my skin
I touched her touch like lunch
of peppers and cherry ducks
in a row of charms
easy to cast as
fruit falling ripe
after blossoms bloom

Vitamin delight I made
floating on her river
tanning, burning in her light

We kissed our meal
to drink the day
a splash of love
in rapids
———-THROBBING IN CREVICES
Though there’s little food in Sugar Ditch
the rabbit hoped to hop from me
a foolish-stewing-hopeless creature,
who’d let luck go where
fecal creeks don’t drown
perfumed hope

Broken down in Sugar Ditch
waiting for a scholarship
I was wheeling like
lightning struck me down

The documentary camera came
just before a thunder wash,
saw the open sewer
that’s home to family shame

I pulled out my crying rag
time moaning sack of clothes
and the man heard me sing
while driving lightning roads